Inslider Trading
by Michael2
Summary: Colin takes over the life of his wealthy duplicate
1. Show Me Your Papers!

I looked through the supply cabinet, reading each name aloud. Then I found the ointment, which was in a yellow tube resembling a toothpaste tube, though one whiff from the open tube would tell you that it wasn't Aqua Fresh toothpaste.  
  
I walked across the parking lot to a quonset hut. Inside the hut, Javier was attending to someone lying down in a bed.  
  
"Is this it?"' I asked.  
  
"Yeah," he replied. He proceeded to apply the ointment to his patient.  
  
In this huge quonset hut, about thirty feet in length and eighteen feet in width. I saw many people lying down on beds. They all suffered from radiation poisoning. Since my arrival here, I saw a few people die from the radiation sickness.  
  
To my fellow volunteers helping these irradiated people, I was just another volunteer. But if I told them of what happened to me, and what I had been doing for the past year and a half, very few, if any, would believe me.  
  
In February of 1998, I met my brother Quinn, who along with his companions Rembrandt Brown and Maggie Beckett, led me on a journey through many different universes, as Quinn called them. These seaprate universes usually interact through interference effects, but Quinn had a device which opens what he calls an Einsten-Rosen-Podolsky Bridge, allowing for actual travel between these universes.   
  
But two months ago, on a warm June night, something happened. I was separated from my friends. I found out later that I was unstuck, which meant that I now slide from universe to universe without a timer or any other external device. In effect, I have become a human timer.   
  
Since my separation, I have slid from world to world, taking up odd jobs to earn enough money to feed myself. I have tried, whenever I had the time, to look for someone who can help me reunite with my brother and friends, but I was unsuccessful so far.   
  
I arrived on this world days ago, and I found out there was no one who could help me. Then, the Terminal Island Nuclear Power Plant melted down, spewing radioactive material into the atmosphere. A large portion of Los Angeles and Orange Counties are now uninhabitable for many, many years, because of the radiation.   
  
I was among the first to volunteer as soon as I heard the news. For the past two days, I had been providing medical aid to those who fell sick to radiation poisoning. I watched the news, hearing statements from the President of the United States and the Governor of California.   
  
I have also spoken with my co-volunteers. I heard trivia about their lives. About my life, I told them I was born in San Francisco, and later moved to El Segundo, which is true.  
  
And of course, I got free food.  
  
There was a Sony television tuned into Fox News. I saw Christopher C. Morton, the head of the Nuclear Regulatory Commission, make another statement, which he has been doing since this terrible disaster.   
  
I walked over to one of the patients. Her nasme was Jennifer. She was just a mile from the power plant when it melted down. For two days she had been fighting for her life, her cells ravaged by the radiation. She looked terrible. I often saw blood coming out of her nose.  
  
"Are you all right?" I asked.  
  
"No," she weakly answered. "I just...want..to sleep."  
  
Then I heard a continous beep. it came from an electrocardiogram, and it was a flatline.  
  
"We have a flatline!" shouted Dr. Eileen Stanley, who was one of the volunteer physicians I worked with these past two days. I remember she went to medical school in San Francisco. She and some other emergency doctirs tried to use paddles to revive Jennifer. they tried over and over again, fir God knows how long.  
  
In the end, her radiation-wracked body could not handle the burden, and so she gave up the ghost, and died.   
  
Dr. Stanley noted down the time of death. Within minutes, Jennifer's body was placed on a gurney and moved out. I looked on, somberly.   
  
"What a shame," said Javier. He just left.  
  
It was almost time for me to go, so I said goodbye to those whom I worked weith, as well as those survivors of the nuclear meltdown, who were still struggling to get a grip on their lives.   
  
I went out on a walk in this warm August night. There was just a warm breeze. I was glad to be able to be away from all that death and suffering.  
  
I had seen many things while sliding, both good and bad. But the one constant was the poverty. Currency in one world may be useless in the next. We certainly could not get high-paying jobs, since any information we give about ourselves will be ebelived to be false.   
  
"Stop right there!" someone shouted.  
  
I looked, and I saw a California Army National Guard soldier, brandishing an M-16 automatic rifle.   
  
"This area is off limits," he said.  
  
I saw a roadblock, manned by some soldiers. Two Humvees were parked nearby. Beyond the roadblock, all the lights were off.  
  
My feet had taken me to what news reporters called the No Man's Land, where radiation levels were too high for anyone to live. I looked and saw helicopters flying above the No Man's Land.  
  
The soldier checked me with a Geiger counter. It was clicking slowly, but then it started clicking faster and faster.  
  
I looked at my watch. Less than twenty seconds before I slide out.  
  
And then I felt myself weightless and off-balance.  
  
When I regained my sense of balance, I was in an alley.  
  
I looked at my watch. I had forty hours left until my next slide.  
  
I walked out of the alley. I could see the storefront signs, wiritten in English. I could not tell what city I was in.  
  
"Stop right there!" someone shouted, in a voice I heard before. I looked, and I saw a soldier brandishing an M-16. "show me your papers?"  
  
"Papers?" I asked.  
  
"Show me your papers!"  
  
"I don't have papers."  
  
"Then you are under arrest."  
  
I was put into a green police car and I was driven away. 


	2. Mirror Mirror

I was taken to this big old brick building. The building was staffed with military police. They took my fingerprints and photographed me.  
  
I wiondered what was going on. Had I ended up on an Army base of some sort? The street that I was arrested on looked like a typical city street, but perhaps it was a mockup city used by the Army for the purposes of urban combat training or something. This would not be the first time I slid right onto a military base, and was arrested by the military police.   
  
I could be charged with trespassing. Then again, I might end up getting shot as a spy, if the country I was in was currently at war. I mean, I had absolutely no idea about anything of this world, other than I was a prisoner of some military force. One thing was certain-these soldiers were human.   
  
At least I do not have to worry about food. At least, I hope the Army feeds its prisoners. If they feed me, but not shoot me, I could leave in a few hours.  
  
I was taken to a cell block, wehre there were a dozen cells lined along a hallway. There were only two other people in there. At least the cells were clean.  
  
"Do I get a phone call?" I asked an MP who was watching the cell block.  
  
"No," he replied.   
  
"What will happen to me?" I asked.  
  
The guy was clearly not in any good mood, that I could tell from his face. "We'd either release you or turn you over to civilian authorities."  
  
Well, not much else to do but to sleep, and hope that my next slide will reunite me with Quinn.  
  
The next morning, I woke up, the light shining through the iron bars of my cell. I waited in my cell, wondering if I would get food, or get released. There were about thirty-two hours left.   
  
I saw two soldiers walk in. I noticed from their uniforms that they were in the U.S. Army.  
  
"Hello there," said one of the men, whose rank markings indicated he was a sergeant. "Come with me; let us have breakfast."  
  
We were taken to this dim room, with only an incandescent lamp providing light. I got scrambled eggs and Frosted Flakes cereal, as well as orange juice and milk.   
  
"Could you tell me wehere I am?" I asked.  
  
"You want to ask questions?" asked the sergeant. "You are at a U.S. Army Detainee Center in Los Angeles. We bring people here if they do not show their papers fast enough."  
  
"Papers?"  
  
"You know, ID, like a driver's license or a passport."  
  
"I'm a transient," I said. "I don't carry papers."  
  
"Well, we have your prints. According to your prints, your name is Colin Mallory, currently of Beverly Hills."  
  
"That's right," I said. "I am Colin Mallory."  
  
"But one must wonder why someone would come all the way from Beverly Hills to a military occupation zone. And no car keys were found here. You must have walked a long way from Beverly Hills."  
  
"I like to travel."  
  
"But you see, we called your home, to notify your wife. And guess who answered? Someone claiming to be you."  
  
"What?" I asked.  
  
"When we called your home, a man answered, claiming to be Colin Mallory. Claiming to be you."  
  
"That's interesting."  
  
"I will conclude two things. Either he's pretendin' to be you, or yer pretendin' to be him."  
  
"What do you think?" I asked.  
  
"It don't matter. The Army is here to keep the peace, not investigate identity fraud. We'll just forward this report to the L.A. County D.A. I hope you are not hiding anything."  
  
"Do you want to know the truth about me?" I asked. "I'm a traveler from another dimension."  
  
"You're an alien?" asked the sergeant. "Maybe we should take a DNA sample or something."  
  
"I'm a human like you. I just come from another dimension."  
  
"When the D.A. hears about this, he might try to have you committed."  
  
"Look at this watch," I said.. "It's counting down. The moment it reaches zero, I' m gone from this world. You can keep me here the next thirty hours, but you'll see me disappear."  
  
After that, I was led back to my cell.  
  
It was just an hour later when it happened.  
  
I was sitting in my cell, as there was nothing else to do. The sergeant who interviewed me walked to the cell block.  
  
"Mallory," he said. "Get up."  
  
"What is it?" I asked.  
  
"The sheriff has declined to take youn into custody. You're free to go. Your twin brother is waiting for you."  
  
"My twin brother?"  
  
I was led out of the cell block, and went to the lobby of the Detention Center. there, I saw myself.  
  
Or rather, I saw my native counterpart to this world. He was dressed in an expensive-looking suit. He was accompanied by some tough-looking guys.  
  
"Come with me," he said. "Let's go."  
  
He led me to his car, a Mercedes. Within minutes were we on the 110 Freeway.  
  
"So," Colin said, "Tell me about yourself."  
  
So I told him the truth. I told him that I was born in San Francisco, that I moved to El Segundo, and then I traveled to different dimensions.  
  
"So there are copies of Earth in these other dimensions?" he asked.  
  
"Yeah," I replied.  
  
"And I have copies in all of those dimensions?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Let me get this straight, these dimensions are separate, so how could you be so much like me? You look like me, you have my name."  
  
"Well, they interace on a quantum level. They interfere with one another, which is why copies of one thing exist in different dimensions."  
  
"My brother used to discuss parallel universes."  
  
"Is his name Quinn?"  
  
"Lucky guess. Your brother is named Quinn too, right?"  
  
"Right? Where is he?"  
  
"He's a graduate student in Stanford, just south of San Francisco."  
  
I looked at my watch. I had twenty-nine hours to contact him. Judging from what my duplicate said, the native Quinn has some knowledge of parallel universes. Maybe he could reunite me with my brother.  
  
"How did you find me?" I asked.  
  
"The U.S. Army called me at my home and told me that they had me in the detainee center. I told this this was impossible. I decided to go over there the next morning and see what's up."  
  
We took an exit on La Cienega. We drove north for thirty more minutes through city traffic. Soon, we reached Beverly Hills. We reached a residential street called Hillcrest Drive and then we parked in a driveway.  
  
"Roxanne isn't home now," he said. "Come on in."  
  
My duplicate's home was, well, better than any place I had stayed in in the past four months or so.  
  
The living room was huge, with new-looking sofas and a coffee table that looked like it was made by hand, rather than in some factory. A huge Magnavox television was in the back, with a cable box, a Sony VCR, and a Toshiba DVD player attached to it. There was also a bookcase filled with lots of books.   
  
"Make yourselves at home," he said. "I have some calls to make."  
  
So I plopped myself right on the couch. I browsed through a recent issue of People magazine. I looked through the magazine. I read an article about some actor named Arnold Schwarzenegger, who had recently donated a lot of money to build a youth center in Pasadena. I read about some seventeen-year-old singer named Britney Spears. And I read an article about a new movie starring soem actress named Courtney Cox.  
  
"You like the place?" Colin asked as he walked down the stairs.  
  
"It's nice," I said.  
  
"Listen," he said. "there are some things that came up on work, so I'm gonna be gone for a little while. I'm going to the Caymans. I'm leaving today."  
  
"So what?" I asked.  
  
"So you will be taking my place."  
  
"What?" I asked.  
  
"You look like me and you sound like me. You can have everything- the house, the car, the credit cards, the wife. You said you'd be here for only until the next day, right?"  
  
"Well, yeah, at least I hope I don't overstay my welcome here. But why are you giving your life to me?"  
  
"I just need to get away from a while. Away from this place. Away from the country. I have to be at LAX at noon."  
  
Then he left. I saw him gert into an airport shuttle van.  
  
There was something he was concealing from me, some vital clue. I mean, I've seen Quinn and Rembrandt and Maggie get mixed upo in the lives of their duplicates. Hell, I've been mixed up in the life of some of my duplicates. One of them even tortured me and sent me to a death camp. Well, according to my watch, I leave tomorrow.  
  
Of course, with my duplicate's wealth, I can finally live high for a while. I might as well enjoy it.  
  
I looked around. My duplicate's bedroom had a king-sized bed and a beatutiful dresser that can only have been made by hand. there was also a private study, with a Power Macintosh G4 on a desk and bookshelves along the other three walls.   
  
I looked around at some photgraphs. I recognized photos of Quinn, and my parents' duplicates.   
  
I also saw of wedding picture of the native Colin as well as a woman whom I recognized.  
  
I recognized her because I almost married one of her duplicates a year ago.  
  
I had gotten mixed up with the life of my duplicate, and I almost married her fiance. The marriage was arranged between my duplicate's family and her family, in order to create a corporate merger.  
  
I looked through some of my duplicate's personal belonings. He has over one million dollars in a Bank of America savings account, and he was currently employed at Prudential Securities in downtown Los Angeles. I also saw one of his degrees, an MBA from Stanford University.  
  
After stuffing myself full, something I had not done in a long, long time, I decided to go to the Beverly Hills Public Library. After wealking for a few minutes, i reached the library. I quickly looked for any history books and news magazines, to see what is up and coming about the world and its historical background.  
  
There was little of interest in the texts of world and American history, at least nothing that stood out from the alternate histories I have read in the past year or so.   
  
I did read about how I ended up in an Army Detainee Center in the first place.  
  
About six years ago, there was an increase in murders, fueled by gangs who sold tobacco on the streets. The shooting death of a teenager in 1995 spraked massive public outrage against the violence. It was pointed out that more people were killed on the streetsd than in the Korean War of the early 1950's. It was pointed out that young people in inner city neighborhoods talked about what they would wear in their own funerals, as if they expected to die.  
  
In response, President Patrick J. Buchanan declared martial law, and sent the U.S. Army into these neightborhoods he said were under seige, thus beginning the military operation known as Javier's Legacy. Military Occupation Zones were established, where the Army had complete authority. Crimes committed in those occupation zones were tried by military commissions.  
  
I looked at the picture of Javier, the teenager whose shooting death led to martial law. and it turned out he was a duplicate of one of the relief workers I worked with in the previous world.  
  
I continued doing more research into this world. I noted there was a nuclear power plant in Terminal Island. I hoped it does not blow its stack like its counterpart did in the previous world.  
  
I went to have a spaghetti lunch at a fine Italian restaurant on Santa Monica Boulevard in Beverly Hills. I had not eaten in a restaurant like this for months. And the servings were huge. Complementary breadsticks were served along with the spaghetti. I was full by the time I finsihed. After that, I paid with a Discover Platinum Card, issued to one Colin Mallory.  
  
In any event, I decided to head home. It was a long walk, and it did put some strain on my stomach, which was trying to digest my lunch, but after a few minutes, I reached my home-for-the-night on Hillcrest Drive.  
  
I opened the door, abnd I saw a woman who appared in the wedding photo with the native Colin.  
  
"Hello, Roxanne," I said.  
  
"Colin," she said. "You taking a day off work?"  
  
"Yeah," I replied. I kissed her, and then sat in front of the TV. "I went to the library and decided to have lunch by myself."  
  
"By yourself?" she asked. She sounded as if she were suspecting soemthing. I wonder if she could suspect that her husband's counterpart from another dimension replaced him.  
  
"Yes, by myself. What did you do?"  
  
"I went to the country club with the girls, played some golf."  
  
I went over to my study. I turned on the G4. Within minutes, Netscape was running, and I was in the 411 Web Site.  
  
I looked up Quinn Mallory, and I found his number. It appeared he was living in San Mateo.  
  
I dialed Quinn's number.  
  
"Hello, this is Quinn," a voice said. "I'm not home now, but please leave a message and I'll call you back."  
  
"This is Colin," I said. "I need to talk to you. It has something to do with parallel universes." I looked at my watch, and it was likely that I would be gone before Quinn could help me, if he could help me.  
  
It was getting late. I had less than twenty-four hours on this Earth.   
  
"Roxanne," I said to my counterpart's wife, "how about we go out to dinner?"  
  
"Go out?" she asked. "With you? You haven't wanted to go out with me in a long time."  
  
"What could be the harm?" I asked. "You don't seem to be too happy about me. Listen, I'm just asking you out to dinner, that's all."  
  
So we went to a fancy steakhouse restaurant in downtown Beverly Hills. I drove there in my duplicate's Mercedes. I still remember how to drive.  
  
I was wearing a suit, as were all the other men. The light was dim, and ony many of the tables there were candles. I saw a waiter weartring a red vest ov er a white shirt approach.  
  
"Mr. Mallory," he said. "God to see you again."  
  
"Good to see you."  
  
"Who is this fair lady? I never seen you with her before."  
  
"She is Mrs. Mallory," I truthfully said.  
  
And so we ordered from our menus. I ordered filet mignon, since technically my duplicate would pay for this. I'll be gone next afternoon, so I won't be stuck with the bill.  
  
"Colin," asked Roxanne, "are you having an affair?"  
  
An affair? I wondered what sort of trouble my duplicate was in.  
  
"No," I replied truthfully.   
  
"Then who's Jennifer? She called our home several times, asking for you."  
  
"For me?' I asked, sipping my water. "Exactly whom was she asking for?"  
  
"You. Colin."  
  
"Then she must be asking for a different Colin," I answered, which was definitely true.  
  
Night had fallen on Beverly Hills. I had watched a Dodgers game on the television. There were so many channels, including the premiun channels. Of course, I would only be here until the next day.  
  
I decided to take a shower. I removed my watch. The watch immediately read zero, as it does whenever I take it off. When I put it back on, I jhave to reset it so I will know how much time I have left.  
  
I stripped off the rest of my clothes, and turned on the water in the shower. And let me say this, thje bathroom was the best I've ever been to in months. It was better than anything in the Chandler or the Dominion.  
  
The warm water sprayed against my body as I lathered myself with Ivory soap.  
  
Then I started feeling dizzy. It felt like if I was sliding.  
  
Then I lost my sense of balance.  
  
After regaining my balance, I noticed I was not being sprayed with water anymore. I was in a dimly lit room.  
  
I wasn't supposed to slide until the next day! Was the watch malfunctioning? Now I slid to another world, and to top it off, I arrived here with nohing, buck naked!  
  
I looked around, and I saw a Negro lady in front of some control panel or something. She was looking at me.  
  
"Colin!" a male voice shouted out. I recognized that voice. It could only be him.  
  
It was Rembrandt Brown.  
  
"Rembrandt!" I shouted, looking at him. "Is that you?"  
  
"Colin, is that really you?" he asked.  
  
"Yes, it's me," I said. I also noticed Maggie Beckett in the room, as well as a young man whom I never seen before.  
  
I walked over to greet them, when the Negro lady told me to stop.  
  
"What's wrong?" I asked.  
  
"The field is what is keeping you here," she said. " I can only hold it for a minute. Once it's gone, you'll go back to where you came from."  
  
"This is Diana Davis," said Rembrandt. "She joined us."  
  
Now I remember. Another version of Diana Davis assembled the watch that I use to keep track of how much time I have until the next slide.  
  
"what happened?" I asked.  
  
"On my world, I was conducting an experiment, and your wormhole interefered," said Diana. "You became unstuck, and now youn slide from worlsd to world without a timer."  
  
"I figured that part out already. Where's Quinn?"  
  
Rembrandt, Maggie, and the strange fellow bowed their heads. "This is going to be hard to explain," said Rembrandt. "Quinn, is well, he's with us, but he's not available. You see"  
  
"guys," said Diana, "this equipment won't maintain the field after ten seconds. Better say goodbye."  
  
"Goodbye, Colin," said Rembrandt.  
  
"Goodbye," said Maggie.  
  
"Colin," said the stranger with them. "We'll get you back."  
  
then I felt dizzy, and then felt myself being sprayed with water. I was back in the shower.  
  
I went out and dried myself. I had returned to the same world I was yanked out of.   
  
But I never felt better than I had since June. I knew that Rembradnt and Maggie were alive and well, and were trying to reunite with me. I hoped that weith the grace of God that I can rejoin them in my quest ot find my home world.  
  
I dressed up, and then pout on my watch. I reset it so I will know how much time I have left.  
  
I couldn't believe the answer.  
  
The watch read that I have about ninety-five hours left until my next slide. 


	3. A Day at Work

I lay awake on my duplicate's bed for at least a couple of hours. Rembrandt and Maggie had pulled me to where they were. Maybe I would see them on a regular basis. But then I remembered that they were on a timer as well, and they might have slid to the next world already.  
  
I wondered what I would do for the next ninety plus hours. I also wondered what sort of trouble the native Colin was in. Because he would certainly not give his life away like this, not unless there was something really wrong. This was not as big a concern to me before, because I was leaving soon, but whatever Rembrandt and Maggie did to pull me to where they were also gave me ninety-five hours.  
  
I woke up at around 7 A.M. the next day. My watch told me there were about eighty-six hours to go. I decided to eat breakfast. my duplicate's wife Roxanne did not say much to me.   
  
I would have to live the life of my duplicate. I would call Quinn, and find out how familiar he is with parallel universes. After finishing my Minute Maid orange juice, I went and got dressed in an expensive-looking suit. I then kissed Roxanne goodbye.  
  
"You haven't kissed me goodbye in such a long time," she said.  
  
It was clear that her husband was neglecting her. If he came back, I intended to tell him that he should appreciate his wife more.  
  
I got into the Mercedes, and drove off. I made sure to study the Thomas Guide mapbook that was in the study to gind out the directions to the Prudential Building. The directions were clear-south on La Cienega, and then east on the Santa Monica Freeway. There was, of course, heavy traffic, as this world's version of Los Angeles was a huge city with millions of people, while in the world I grew up in, Los Angeles only had a hundred thousand people.  
  
But after over forty minutes, three of them being searched at an Army checkpoint, I finally reached the place. I parked ina garage below the Prudential Building, in a section for those with monthly passes, since there was a monthly pass hanging from the rearview mirror of the Mercedes. I set the parking gear and shut off the engine.  
  
I walked to the elevators, noticing other people in suits walking to that same location. I pushed a button for the top floor, since that is where my duplicate's office is. After a couple of more minutes,. I reached my floor.  
  
I stepped out, the Bally loafers pressing against the carpet. I walked to a door, which was next to a plaque reading, "Prudential Securities, Inc."  
  
I stepped into the front office of the place. There was a desk with a young Negro lady sitting behind it. There were couches, as well as a table with copies of Time, Newsweek, and Forbes sitting on top.  
  
"Hey, CM!" I heard someone say. I looked, and saw this bespectacled fellow wearing a black suit, a bright red tie screaming for attention. He appeared young, in his early twenties.  
  
"Uh, hi," I said.  
  
"I just finished that report on real estate in the San Gabriel Valley," he said. He led me to hius private office, which was about the size of the closet. It was typically furnished, with a desk and a personal computer. He handed me a folder. "Is there anything else? How are you feeling?"  
  
"I'm fine," I said. "Now I'll go over with this report."  
  
I walked around the office, noticing all the cubicles. I wondered where my office was. My duplicate's card mentioned he was president of the business investigations division.  
  
I felt something grab my arm. "Colin," a female voice said. "You all right?"  
  
"Yes," I said. I looked at the lady, who appeared to be in her early twenties. She had long blond hair that flowed to her waist. She looked familiar, but then after a year of sliding, a person would tend to meet different versions of a person.  
  
Then I rembered where I last saw her.  
  
She was lying down on a bed in a quonset hut, dying from radiation poisoning she contracted when that nuclear power plant on Terminal Island blew.I spoke with her a couple of times while I was there. I actually saw her die.  
  
But this person was not there, this person was a duplicate of that poor girl who died of radiation poisoning. This version of her was hale and hearty.  
  
"Hello, Jennifer," I said.  
  
"I've got some messages for you," she said. "You usually don't call in sick. You haven't even returned my calls."  
  
"I have some reports to look over in my office," I said. "Alone."  
  
I went into my new office. It was huge. First of all, let me mention the view. I could see most of downtown Los Angeles, with the huge skyscrapers soaring into the sky. I could see the freeways, and the San Gabriel Mountains in the background.  
  
The chair in my office was fine leather, right behind a beautiful mahogany desk. There was also a fine leather chair for visitors. I also saw a liquor cabinet. On the desk was a Power Macintosh G4, as well as pens and paper clips and a Swingline stapler.   
  
I briefly browbnsed the reports, which was very technical in nature. I wondered if my suplicate was having fun in the Cayman Islands.   
  
I opened Netscape, and quickly looked up Quinn's phone number. I then dialed the number.  
  
"Hello?" he asked.  
  
"Quinn!" I shouted. "It's me, Colin!"  
  
"How are things going in L.A.?"  
  
"Uh, fine, I think. Listen, are you a graduate student in physics?"  
  
"Yes, I am. I expect to get my master's next year."  
  
"Listen, how much do you know about parallel universes?"  
  
"Well, it's kind of hard to explain. You see, the universe is partitioned off into parallel universes. We know they exist because each particle has counterparts in these parallel universes, and they ineract via wave interference. There are a couple of books which could explain this better than I could in a phone conversation."  
  
"Have you ever built a machine that can allow you to travel to parallel universes?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Have you ever built, or used, a machine that generates a wormhole thart can allow anyone to travel to these other universes?"  
  
"No, I haven't, Colin. And there's a good reason. Opening a wormhole takes a lot of energy, more energy than you can conceive of. To tear the fabric of spacetime like this is something that can not be done by putting together some spare parts from Radio Shack and plugging it in to an electric outlet."  
  
"But that's what you did. Listen, I'm from a parallel universe. You said particles had counterparts in other universes. I am your brother's counterpart."  
  
"You know, Colin, this is a pretty funny joke."  
  
"It's no joke."  
  
"Well, I have to go study at the library for my thesis."  
  
"Okay." I hung up the phone.  
  
Clearly, if he did not believe it was practical to build a wormhole generator, then he could not reunite me with my friends. I decided to browse the Internet.   
  
I looked up Professor Maximilian Arturo, a nam whose incarnations I have run into on occasion in the past year of sliding. According to the web pages I read, the professor does know about the theory of parallel universes, and even wrote books about it. He had written an article in Science about how computers can be designed so they conduct parallel processing with their counterparts in other universes.  
  
I also read that he is a professor in Oxford University which is in England. I doubted that he knew the native Colin.  
  
I guess I would have to wait until the next world to find help.  
  
There was a meeting just before lunch. I had spent most of the morning surfing the Internet, learning about the world I would be in for the next eighty-three hours. We were all seated around a conference table. Jennifer, who appeared to be my duplicate's secretary, say in a corner taking the minutes.   
  
"The Mandalay Bay Resort Group has just purchased some land in the Anaheim Hills," said Michael, the fellow who had greeted me earlier. "Our field agents have confirmed that they have plans to build a new casino. The company had not issued a press release yet. But the stock price will rise once it does."  
  
"So we buy the stock before the price rises," I said.  
  
"Yeah," said another fellow. "And we should sell our Raytheon stock. There are rumors of pending litigation against it. We can make a profit of a million dollars."  
  
"What if the litigation does not come?" I asked, hoping to understand the native Colin's job in detail.  
  
"The press will report it, probably this afternoon. I hope the release will cause the stock price to fall. We sell the stock, and then buy it back."  
  
The meeting droned on for a few more minutes. I heard something about a report from the California Department of Agriculture concerning crop yield estimates for the next quarter, so we would invest in something called futures. I also heard that an oil company had managed to find a new source of oil, and so the price of oil is epxected to drop a bit, while that particular company's stock price was expected to rise. After that, the meeting was over.  
  
"CM," said Michael. "Do you want me to forward these tips to Mr. van Dahl?"  
  
"Uh, yeah," I said. "Go right ahead." I figured Native Colin did business with this Mr. van Dahl.  
  
Anyhow, I had lunch in a restaurant in the lobby of the Prudential Building. I sat at the bar and ordered some stuffed portabella mushrooms, the stuffing being pieces of smoked salmon, Asiago cheese, and pieces of tomatoes.   
  
I saw Jennifer sit down at the table with me.  
  
"What are you doing here?" I asked.  
  
"I always eat lunch with you," she replied.   
  
"Oh."  
  
So we talked. Jennifer told me about the minutia of her life. She seemed pretty close to me, or rather, Native Colin.   
  
When we were done, she said,"So, will we meet in your office after work?"  
  
"Okay," I said.  
  
I had not known what she meant at the time.  
  
I spent the rest of the afternoon signing papers dealing with acquisitions and mergers and other stuff. I received reports from people about what various companies planned to do. I dealt with puts and calls and futures contracts. I aslo recerived an invitation to some party whiuch was tonight at the Chandler Hotel on Wilshire Boulevard.  
  
I learned a lot about the investments business. I already knew that stocks were shares of the companyu, as there existed a version of the Pacific Stock Exchange on my world. Puts and calls were conbtract to buy or sell stocks at a particular price on some future date. Futures contracts were contracts to purchase or sell commodities at a particular price at a particular date. The commodities my counterpart traded in included wheat, rice, oil, and oranges.  
  
It was getting late, and most of the people in the office said goodbye to me before going home. I decided to sit in my office, looking through the Internet.  
  
Jennifer stepped inside and shut the door.  
  
"What do you want?" I asked.  
  
"You know what I want," she said.   
  
Then she kissed me very poassionately. She untied my necktie.  
  
I pushed her away. "What are you doing?" I asked.  
  
"You don't feel like it?" she asked.  
  
My duplicate was having an extramarital affair with this woman. I wondered what kind of woman Jennifer was, if she would willingly have sex with someone who is married to someone else.  
  
"NO, I do not feel like it," I said.  
  
"Okay," she replied. Then she left, shutting the door behind her.  
  
I browsed throuhg the contents of my duplicate's hard drive. I then found some GIF files.   
  
There were pictures of Jennifer, buck naked, without a stitch on her. And she was posing in some very suggestive positions.  
  
What's more, these pictures seem to have been taken inside this very office!  
  
I understood part of what trouble Native Colin was in.  
  
I hoped that there was not any more trouble for me. 


	4. Let's make a Deal, featuring Johnnie Coc...

After my encounter with Jennifer, I got into the Mercedes and drove to my Beverly Hills home. I was still shocked at what my counterpart was doing behind his wife's back. Traffic on the Santa Monica Freeway was heavy as usual. It took a good forty minutes to reach Beverly Hills.  
  
As soon as I entered the house, I turned on the television to find out what is going on in the world. I saw some news reports, such as Governor John van de Kamp signing some education bill, and an anouncement for a new hotel/casino in the Anaheim Hills.  
  
"Roxanne," I said to my duplicate's wife, "Listen, I have this invitation to go to this charity event at the Chandler."  
  
"Then go yourself," she said.  
  
"Well, you should be with me."  
  
"You just take me out when you want to show me to your peers. When was the last time the two of us had a romantic dinner together? Or walked along the beach in Santa Monica? I'm not going with you. Until you treat me as a wife, I won't appear as your wife!"  
  
"Fine then," I said.   
  
And so I went alone.   
  
I reached the Chandler Hotel and Casino at around 8:30 P.M. I gave the keys to some valet driver so he can park the Mercedes. I recognized him, noting that some of his duplicates work at the Chandler.   
  
I walked inside the lobby of the Chandler. It looked pretty much the same as its counterparts in other universes. I did notice the sounds of slot machines coming from a huge room adjacent to the lobby.   
  
I went to banquet room where the party will be held.   
  
The room was huge, withg cloth-covered tables all around. There was a dance floor in the back, and some stereo equipment in the corner where dance music would be played. There were lots of people in there already, all dressed in fine clothes. I guessed they were the top influential business and political leaders in Los Angeles and Orange Counties.   
  
"Mr. Mallory," someone said to me. I turned, and saw a middle-aged man with blond hair.  
  
"Uh, hi," I said.   
  
"Where is your lovely wife?"  
  
"She wasn't feeling well," I said, telling the truth.  
  
I looked upon the people, al chatting with each other. I wondered what Native Colin was doing in the Cayman Islands. I wondered whom else I would meet.   
  
I watched the man who had greeted me earlier. I listened to what he said as he greeted this old man in a tuxedo.   
  
"My name is Galen van Dahl," he said. "A pleasure to meet you."  
  
I approached the two men. I might as well start with this Mr. van Dahl. I had a feeling I hard that name before, perhaps it was a few slides ago.  
  
"Hello, my name is Colin Mallory," I said, extending my hand to the old guy.  
  
"And I am Richard Riordan," he replied. "You know, mayor of Los Angeles. You must have seen my face on TV."  
  
"I believe in proper introductions," I said.   
  
I sat at the table, eating the dinner being offered. I sat with a bunch of people I did not know, but who may very well know the local Colin Mallory. I told them about myself, about being born in San Francisco and moving to El Segundo. I omitted some details, such as the fact that I was adopted by my parents' duplicates. They told me about their lives, and their work in business. The dinner was nice, for the main course was none other than prime rib.  
  
I went to the restroom, where I did my business at the urinal. I then went to wash my hands at the sink. I could not help but notice the luxury of the restroom.  
  
"Mallory," said Van Dahl as he entered the restroom. "I almost forgot to congratulate you for those tips."  
  
"Well, you're welcome," I said.  
  
"I mean, you made me an extra million dollars. I don't know how your boys get that inside info, but I must thank them, and thank you for hiring them."  
  
"Well, Mr. van Dahl, that's business."  
  
I later went to the casino where I decided to gamble some of my duplicate's money. I put money into a slot machine and started pulling the handle of the one-armed bandit, as they are popularly known.  
  
"Hello there," someone said. I turned, and saw a Negro fellow in an Army suit. "You were a guest at the charity ball, right?"  
  
"Yeah," I said. "My name is Colin Mallory."  
  
"I'm Colonel Christopher Morton, commander of the Homeland Defense Forces in this county," he said.   
  
"So, how long have you been in the Army?" I asked.  
  
"Since 1976. I was born in Chicago in 1957, I attended Infantry Officer Basic School in Georgia, and I later was stationed in the DMZ in Korea. I was stationed in Los Angeles just two years ago."  
  
I told him a short bio about my life, omitting the fact that I traveled between universes. I saw another man in an Army suit approach Colonel Morton. He looked familiar.  
  
"This is Captain Shays," said Morton.  
  
"Hi," I said, extending my hand. "I'm Colin Mallory."  
  
"Hi," said Shays. "I was in charge of the Army forces in the Hollenbeck sector. It used to be the most violent sector, but within a few dats, all of our enemies were destroyed and peace was restored."  
  
"I wonder why the Army was needed to deal with this problem," I said. "What about the police?"  
  
"The police?" asked Morton. "Well, Colin, we wouldn't have soldiers on the streets if the police did their jobs. The police think that black neighborhoods are game preserves where predators can poick off their prey at their leisure. I remember this incident that happened in Parma, Ohio back in 1986. A mob surrounded the house of this black woman who lived there. She called the police, but they did not come. She called a friend of hers, who scared away the crowd with a shotgun. The police arrived to arrest the friend. During the trial, the defense played tapes of the 911 operators laughing at the woman's predicament. And that is why the Army is here. The Army is here to do the job the police refuse to do."  
  
I got up and headed to the banquet room.  
  
I spent the rest of the night speaking with other high profile people. There was more music and more dancing.   
  
Eventually, the party was over. I said goodbye to the mayor and the other guests.  
  
I walked towards the valet parking.   
  
"Colin Mallory," someone said. I looked and saw two people in suits.  
  
"Yes?" I asked. I remembered they were in the charity ball.  
  
"FBI," he said, flashing a badge. "You are under arrest for insider trading, fraud, and conspiracy to commit fraud. You have thr right to remain silent. you have the right to an attorney. If you can not afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Aunthing you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."  
  
So I am arrested again.  
  
I was put into a Ford Crown Victoria and taken to the Los Angeles Federal Jail. I was fingerprint and my picture was taken.   
  
I decided to call Roxanne.  
  
"You're in jail?" she asked.  
  
"The FBI arrested me. I am due for a bail hearing tomorrow morning."  
  
She then hung up on me.  
  
I had an appointment in federal court tomorrow, so I decided to sleep in my cell. It did not take too long for me to fall asleep.  
  
In my dream, I was flying through the wormhole, and at the same time I was not moving at all. This old man abruptly appeared.  
  
"Hello, Colin Mallory," he said. "I've been watching you for two months."  
  
"Who are you?" I asked. "Are you God?"  
  
"No, just his humble servant."  
  
"Can you reunite me with my friends?"  
  
"Your friends have not abandoned you. God has not abandoned you."  
  
"Can He reunite me with my friends?"  
  
" You have a long way to go before you meet your frends. In time, you shall choose your own path, but the Lord shall guide you for now."  
  
I woke up the next morning. I ate breakfast in the cafeteria. The breakfast was Fruit Loops, scrambled eggs, and Minute Maid orange juice. There were a few other people in there. Most were awaiting trial for federakl crimes, and the rest were U.S. marshals who kept order in this place.   
  
"Colin Mallory," a voice said over the speaker, "please come to the visiting room."  
  
I was escorted by a U.S. marshal to a visitation room. Inside, I saw the FBI agents who arrested me, and two other men.  
  
"This is U.S. Attorney Johnnie Cochran," said the FBI agents who arrested me, "and Assistant U.S. Attorney Angus Rickman. Let's have a seat."  
  
So I sat down.  
  
"Mr. Mallory," said Cochran, "we've been investigating you and your company for a year. We know that you organized an effort to pry secrets from companies and then engage in stock transactions. You are facing a very long time in prison. But we are willing to make a deal. You did the crime, you might not have to do the time."  
  
"What would I have to do?" I asked.  
  
"We believe that your office was doing money-laundering for a gang boss."  
  
"And who would that be?" I asked.  
  
"You've done business with him before. In fact, one of your employees is married to his daughter His name is Galen van Dahl."  
  
"Van Dahl?" I asked. Then I remembered. He spoke to me in the men's room at the Chandler, during that charity ball.  
  
"Van Dahl is the head of all the tobacco gangs in southern California," said Angus Rickman. "He has alliances with many people in local, state, and federal government. We know his true occupation, but we haven't found anyone willing to talk or any paper trail-until now."  
  
"We want you to testify against Galen van Dahl," said Cochran. "We'll drop all charges against you. We'll even find a safehouse for you."  
  
"Listen," I said. "I really don't know much about Van Dahl."  
  
"We saw you speaking with Van Dahl at that charity banquet last night," said the FBI agent. He grabbed my shirt. "If you don't squeal, I'll make you squeal."  
  
"That's enough, Redfield!" Cochran barked. "You want to go to federal prison? You agree to testify before the grand jury, and you will walk. There is no way you can get off in a federal trial. The paper trail means you're going to jail. The verdict will be in, you'll be as guilty as sin."  
  
"No," I said. "I don't know anything about this."  
  
"Fine then," said Cochran. "Remember this. You've been arrested; van Dahl knows you're a liability. He's gonna come after you. And there won't be any marshals to protect you."  
  
Later that morning, I went before a federal judge for a presentment hearing. The judge was a Negro lady whose nameplate identified her as Judge Sylvius  
  
"We are charging him with insider trading, fraud, and conspiracy to commit fraud," said Cochran.  
  
"Bail is set at eight hundred thousand dollars," said Judge Sylvius.  
  
After paying my bail to the court clerk, I was released from the federal jail. I decided to head back to the Prudential offices in downtown Los Angeles. Within minutes after entering the lobby, I was inside the office suites. I wanted to find out more about my duplicate.  
  
I also found some FBI agents gathering evidence in the office. They were putting ahnging file folders into white cardboard boxes.  
  
"We're serving a search warrant," said Agent Redfield, who had arrested me last night. I saw people dowloading from the computers in the office by using laptop computers. "Don't interfere or I'll arrest you for obstruction of justice."  
  
"I want a copy of the evidence for my criminal defense," I said. "I know that is the procedure."  
  
"You can work with your computers after we're done."  
  
I went into my private office. There was alaptop attached to my office computer, and the desk drawers were already open.   
  
"Excuse me," said the FBI agent overseeing the download.  
  
"I just wanted to make sure you didn't break anything," I said.   
  
"We'll let you have the computer after we're done," said the FBI agent. There was a file folder on top of my desk. The FBI apparently did not take it in as evidence.  
  
the folder did not contain data baout the investments made by this office. It contained personal data.  
  
I saw a photo of a naked woman in there. And she was not Jennifer.  
  
There was also a personal love letter written to the local Colin from a woman named Isabel.It was a sexually explicit love letter. Fromm it, I learned that Isabel lived in the Cayman Islands. So I learned that my duplicate was cheating on Jennifer as well.   
  
It was clear he was involved in fraud as well as adultery. He must have been questioned by the authorities about some of his illegal deals. He quickly packed up his bags, when the Army called him and told him about me. He decided to replace himself with me, so I would bear the consequences of his crimes.  
  
From what I can tell about the federal justice system, i would be gone even before the arraignment, so I did not have to worry about spending a decade in a federal prison. But the FBI was not the only person my duplicate was running from. There was this business with Mr. van Dahl, and if the FBI's statements about him were accurate, van Dahl would come gunning for me.   
  
In the meantime, this world's version of Colin Mallory was in the Cayman Islands, doing who knows what.   
  
I went back into the main office, and the FBI was just hanging there, waiting for the downloads to finish. I just remebered that Michael, who worked for my duplicate, had mentioned Mr. van Dahl.  
  
I walked into his office, and I saw a picture of a blond-haired woman.  
  
That must be his wife, and Galen van Dahl's daughter.   
  
"Agent Redfield," I asked, "is this his daughter."  
  
the FBI agent looked. "Yes, that's her. Deana van Dahl. Her husband Michael works for you."  
  
"I figured that out."  
  
"So Mallory, are you willing to cut a deal with the U.S. Attorney?"  
  
"I want to discuss this with my lawyer."  
  
"Go ahead. Just remember that we won't put you into the witness protection program until you become a witness."  
  
I had to take a taxi to get back to the Chandler and get the Mercedes. The cab driver was some old Russian man whose name is Pavel Kurlienko. After a few minutes driving down Wilshire Boulevard, I paid him and then went off to get the car. Once I was inside the Mercedes, I drove back to the house in Beverly Hills. I reached the house by lunchtime.  
  
I went inside, and I saw Roxanne watching television.  
  
"Hi," I said.  
  
She did not speak.   
  
"Well, I was arrested by the FBI and was charged with fraud. they asked me to rat out on some gangster in exchange for getting off free. How was your day?"  
  
"You were cheating on me, so it's not hard to believe that you would cheat investors."  
  
"Roxanne, I am innocent of these accusation. God Himself knows that."   
  
Danger.  
  
I had a feeling that I was in danger. But of course I was in danger. If that gangster van Dahl ever found out that I had been arrested, he might send someone to kill me.  
  
But I had a feeling the danger was imminent. It was like a premonition.   
  
I immediately ran downstairs. "Roxanne," I said, "we have to get out of here."  
  
"I'm not going with you," she said. "As soon as the divorce court opens, I'll file for divorce!"  
  
I decided to pull her away. "Listen,"I said. "This gangster named van Dahl wants to kill me to kep me from testifying against him."  
  
"And what makes youn think they're here now?" she demandingly asked.  
  
"I have this feeling," I said. "come, follow me."  
  
I led Roxanne out into the backyard, to avoid any hit men who might be sitting in a car in front of the street. I saw the Mercedes and another car, an Infiniti, parked side by side on the driveway.   
  
suddenly, two cars suddenly stopped right in front tof the driveway, blocking it. I saw two people come out and open fire upon us.  
  
"They're shooting at us!" Roxanne shouted.   
  
We both headed back inside the house,locking the door and taking cover among the furniture as we made our way to the second floor hallway. I could see at least three cars. We were surrounded.   
  
I went into the bedroom to dail 911. But there was no dialtone; the hit men must have cut the phone lines.   
  
It looked like there was no way out excepot through another dimension, and theseguys weould get into the house long before my slide out. 


	5. Gotta Get Away

I was now trapped in my house in Beverly Hills, the house I was living in for the past three days. Thugs sent by some gangster were now surrounding the place, trying to go after me.   
  
I had to think. I've encountered these kind of situations during my past year of sliding. Of course, I was with three experienced sliders. But now.  
  
Then I just rushed into the study. I could hear the sound of breaking glass, as the thugs decided to break into the house and gun me down in here.   
  
I quickly unhooked all the cables from the Power Macintosh G4. I then lifted up the computer. It was pretty heavy. I was glad the physical demands of sliding in the past year have kept me in shape.   
  
"What?" asked Roxanne. "You're gonna click them to death?"  
  
I went out to the hallway, near the stairs. I could hear footsteps in the living room. I then heard the footsteps coming up the stairs.   
  
Because of the design of the house, anyone walking up the stairs can not see the second floor hallway.  
  
I waited for the right moment.  
  
Then I struck! I rammed the frame of the Macintosh right into the thug's face as hard as I could. He fell down, knocking down two more thugs. Then I leaped down the staris and grabbed a pistol.   
  
"Come!" I shouted. Roxanne ran down the stairs, almost tripping over the fallen thugs. We both ran out the front door.   
  
As I had expected, the thugs left their cars unguarded, as they were all inside the house looking for me. Roxanne and I ran for a black Toyota Tercel. some of the suited thugs burst out of the front door. I opened fire at them, not caring If any of them were killed. I started the engine of the Toyota, put the gear in reverse, and slammed on the gas. I heard a crunch as the Toyota hit another car parked on Hillcrest Drive. I guess my duplicate can pay for this. I then shifted to drive, and drove off.   
  
I quickly reached Sunset Boulevard. For a minute I thought I was safe. But then, I could see a car racing up to me, trying to pull close to me. The thugs must be following me! I turned the steering wheel just as I heard a gunshot. I then felt a jolt as they rammed into us, trying to force us off the road.   
  
As I drove cdown the road, I kept being rammed from behind. These guys were crazy!   
  
I saw a bunh of cars stopped ahead, as well as a red traffic signal. Stopping would mean certain death for me.  
  
So I swerved into the opposite lane. I swerved back into the right lane as I crossed the intersection. I heard the hinking of horns as I went through the red light.   
  
I heard the sound of a crash. I looked in the rearview mirror, and saw the thugs' car hit in the side by a huge truck. I am talking about the eighteen-wheelers.   
  
"Are we safe?" asked Roxanne.  
  
"For now," I said. "But Van Dahl is sure to send more hit men after me. He thinks I'm gonna testify against him."  
  
"What is going on?" she asked.  
  
"Well, Prudential Securities, whom I currently work for, has been laundering money for gangs. The feds arrested me. They told me that they will drop all charges if I testified against Galen van Dahl."  
  
"Listen, we need to find someplace safe," said Roxanne. "Someplace where Van Dahl would never think to look for us."  
  
"Here it is," I said, pointing down the street.   
  
Roxanne and I looked at the Humvee parked at the curb of Whittier Boulevard, just east of downtown Los Angeles. Two MP's were standing nearby, holding M-16's. There was a sign near the Humvee.  
  
MILITARY CHECKPOINT  
  
YOU ARE ENTERING A MILITARY OCCUPATION ZONE  
  
ALL PERSONS SUBJECT TO SEARCH  
  
"Halt," said one of the soldiers. "show your papers."  
  
I showed my duplicate's driver's license. Another soldier patted me down.   
  
"You may enter," said the soldier. I saw one of them write on a clipboard.  
  
We walked in, having ditched the Toyota for fear it would arouse suspicion from the Army. We also got money from my duplicate's account at an ATM.  
  
"Well, now what?" asked Roxanne.   
  
"We find an apartment," I said.   
  
"In this neighborhood?"  
  
So we walked around looking for an apartment that accepts transients. Finally, we reached this run-down place with a For Rent sign.   
  
We asked to see the apartment manager. One of the tenants, who only spoke Spanish, led us to the manager's place. I spoke with him, an old Negro man.  
  
"You must be on the run," he said. "The only white people who'd ever come here are either on the run from the law or from gangsters. In some parts of the country there's hardly any difference between the two."  
  
"Is there telephone service, sir?" asked Roxanne.  
  
"Nope," said the apartment manager. "There's only electricity and running water. Of course, you have to bring your own TV if you want to watch it. And make sure it's a cheap-ass TV. Armed robberies are uncommon, thanks to them soldiers, but thieves and burglars are still runnin' about."  
  
We both looked at our new apartment, and it sure was contrast from our Beverly Hills home. The wallpaper was torn in several places, and there were cracks in the plaster of the wall. There were also stains on the carpet and on the counter of the kitchen sink. Most telling, though, were bullet holes in the walls.  
  
"God," said Roxanne. "what a dump."  
  
"I've slept in worse," I said, which was true of me, but not of the husband whom she thought I am.  
  
"I need to call the FBI," I said.  
  
"What, you're gonna squeal?" Roxanne asked.  
  
"Yup," I said. She handed me her Motorola cellular phone.  
  
I then asked the apartment manager for a phone book so I can call the FBI.   
  
"Federal Bureau of Investigation," said a female voice. "How may I help you?"  
  
"This is Colin Mallory," I said. "Is Agent Redfield there?"  
  
"No, he is not."  
  
"I need him on the line. This is an emergency. Some thugs tried to kill me this morning. I need protection. I'm willing to talk."  
  
"Just give me your number."  
  
I gave her Roxanne's cell phone number. "Okay, sir. Just hang on."  
  
I hung up. "Well, we'll wait to see if Agent Redfield is willing to help me out."  
  
Roxanne and I had bought dinner from Kentucky Fried Chicken.   
  
"There's something I've got to tell you," I said.  
  
"You're gonna confess to cheating on me?" she asked.  
  
"No," I said. "It will be hard to believe."  
  
"That is the dumbest story I've ever heard," she said.  
  
I had just told her about my life. About being born in another dimension. About being left with my parents' duplicates in another dimension's version of San Francisco. About meeting up with my brother Quinn, a counterpart of this world's Quinn. About visiting dozens of parallel univerrses over the years, the last few alone, separated from my brother.  
  
"See this watch?" I asked. "Someone who understood what was happening to me designed it so it would tell me how much time was left. I slide out on Monday."  
  
"So why not just leave the area, and go to New York or Philadelphia or something?" said Roxanne.   
  
"I think God is guiding my journey," I replied. "Your husband left you with me so we could take a bullet for him. Listen, Roxanne. You deserve better, better than Colin. I know he has mistreated you. You deserve better."  
  
"You're better."  
  
"I can't stay, Roxanne. I'll be gone on Monday."  
  
We both went to sleep in the new apartment. I wondered if Quinn and Rembrandt and Maggie will try to retrieve me like they did two days ago. Maybe I won't be unstuck any longer.  
  
I woke up and I heard the sound of a lousspeaker. But it was only 11:45 PM. Roxanne stirred awake too.  
  
"Colin Mallory!" the voice shouted. "This is the United States Army! We have the place surrounded! You have thirty seconds to vacate the premises with your hands on top of your head. I repeat. Colin Mallory, this is the United States Army! We have the place surrounded! You have thirty seconds to vacate the premises with your hands on top of your head."  
  
So that's what I did. I figured the FBI put out a warrant for my arrest or something, and the Army was here to provide backup.  
  
Roxanne and I walked out, and I faced over a dozen soldiers with MP's. I could see armored personnel carriers, Humvees, and Ford Crown Victoria police cars parked on the street just outisde the apartment. the soldiers put me and Roxanne into the green Army police car and then we all drove off.  
  
The U.S. Army police car stopped in front of the Army Detainee Center, the same one where I spent Wednesay night after my arrival here. But we were not put in a holding cell, nor wwere our fingerprints taken. We were put in an interrogation room.  
  
"Captain Shays will be with you in a moment," said the sergeant who brought us in here. "make yourselves comfortable. I can bring some donuts."  
  
The sergeant brought the two of us donuts and coffee from Krispy Kreme a few minutes later. I guess the Army brought us here so they can turn me over to the FBI.   
  
"Don't worry, Roxanne," I said. "Everything will be fine."  
  
So we ate the donuts and drank some of the coffee for the next few minutes. Then, the door opened, and a man in an Army uniform stepped inside. I was expecting FBI agents to accompany him.  
  
But I saw Galen van Dahl instead. He was accompanied by this huge Negro with a gleaming gold incisor.  
  
"What's going on?" I asked the Army man, whom I can tell was Captain Shays.  
  
"I'm just turning over a squealer," said Shays. I looked into his face, and I remembered where I saw him before.  
  
Two months ago, I ended up in a death camp in the Presidio in San Francisco. I was kept in a shack with a whole vbunch of other people who were believed to be traitors to their country. A guard came in and tried to take one of the female prisoners so he could rape her, but I stuck a sharpened piece of wood into his neck and killed him.  
  
Captain Shays here happens to be a duplicate of that guard!  
  
"Nice to see you again, Mallory," said Van Dahl. "We used to get along together so well. Too bad you had to betray me. You got careless, Mallory. One of the reasons your bosses paid you so much is so you can take the fall for them. But it will work out anyway. I kill you, and your bosses and I can continue to do business."  
  
"Shays," I said, "Why are you working with him? I know why the President declared martial law. He is the enemy."  
  
"The enemy was destroyed three years ago," said the captain. "Van Dahl's people are no threat to this nation. I was not sent here to fight him."  
  
"Those terrorist gangs were waging war on the people of this neighborhood," said Van Dahl. "It wasn't safe to go out and buy tobacco and heroin. My people don't go around killing people simply because they wear the wrong color clothes. Those gangs were a threat to my business. They had to be eliminated. What I do is provide people with the goods and services they want. Tobacco. Cocaine. heroin. Women. And with soldiers occupying certain neighborhoods, business skyrocketed!"  
  
"Mr. van Dahl has offered me a position in his company," said Shays. "As soon as my service obligatrion is finished, I will resign and work for him, and earn ten times what the Army pays me!"  
  
"I don't hate you, Mallory," said Van Dahl. "Thought you were willing to betray your clients, I do not hate you. I sure won't be seething with rage against you when you are dead. It is too bad about the wife, though."  
  
"What?" asked Roxanne.  
  
"Those who turn agaist me, I not only destroy them, but their families as well," said Van Dahl. "I insist on doing business with those who are married or have kids. It gives my associates incentive not to swindle me or rat me out. It is a pity I have to kill her; she is so beautiful."  
  
He then pulls out a pistol.  
  
"You know," I said, "Congress outlawed firearms in the 1970's."  
  
"And you know, white people don't get prosecuted for carrying firearms. They get a warning, and their gun back."  
  
"You're a soldier!" shouted Roxanne to Captain Shays. "Do something! He's carrying a gun, and that's illegal!"  
  
"It's not my job to enforce the gun laws," said Shays. "My job is keeping the peace."  
  
"And how is allowing him to shoot her keeping the peace?" I asked.  
  
"This won't go on any official report," the captain answered.  
  
Van Dahl then put the barrel of the pistol against Roxanne's temple, and smiled. It seemed he did this before. He was so calm, seeing the fear in his victim's eyes, not expecting resistance.  
  
Then I struck! I leaped and my fist, carrying the momentum of my body, made contact with Van Dahl's face. I then tuirned towards Captain Shays, who was unholstering his Beretta. I rammed right into him, causing him to fall into the gold-toothed Negro, and they both fell.   
  
"Let's go," I shouted.  
  
We ran through the hallway of the Detainee Center, and then we sprinted out of the lobby. We kept running until we went into a dark alley. I looked towards the Detainee Center. I saw an MP come out and look around for us, but he did not see us.   
  
I assessed the situation. Whom can I trust? I wonder how many of the soldiers here would commit murder for Captain Shays. I wonder who among the LAPD, L.A. County Sheriff's Department, and FBI were aligned with Galen van Dahl.   
  
Who is friend, and who is foe?  
  
Suddenly, there was a loud voice coming from the loudspeakers on the street.  
  
This is a lockdown. I repeat, this is a lockdown. all civilians are required to stay indoors. I repeat, this is a lockdown."  
  
I did not have to know about this world's history to know that soldiers will be patrolling the streets, arresting anyone who refuses to cooperate. We his in a junk-strewn alley. A helicopter flew overhead. I dialed the FBI on Roxanne's cell phone.  
  
"Hello?" asked the graveyard shift receptionist.  
  
"Can you connect me to Agent Redfield?" I asked.  
  
"He is not here."  
  
"Tell him I am in the military occupation zone east of downtown. Galen van Dahl is working with an Army captain named Shays."  
  
"Okay, sir, I've got it."  
  
"So what now, Colin?" asked Roxanne. "Do we just sleep in this alley like bums?"  
  
"We'll just have to hide until the Army cancels the lockdown. Of course, Captain Shays ordered this lockdown, and he might not lift it until I'm caught."  
  
"But what?"  
  
"You know, Shays will be after me, not you. You go escape."  
  
"No, Colin. I'm sticking with you. I'll be on your side while you're here, unlike some other person who looks like you."  
  
So Roxanne peeked around the corner of the alley with the street ahead. She signaled for me to go. I went out, and saw no military vehicles driving down the street. We walked down the sidewalk.  
  
And then we saw a Humvee make a right turn, heading towards us. We quickly ducked behind a building, allowing the Humvee to pass.   
  
We continued along the street, sticking close to the buildings. The only sounds were those of Army helicopters flying above us.  
  
We saw a bunch of military vehciles parked on the street. It must be a random checkpoint, so we decided to go on another street.   
  
I felt Roxanne's cell phone vibrate. It must be ringing.  
  
"Hello, this is Colin Mallory," I said.  
  
"Mr. Mallory, this is Agent Redfield," said the voice. "Listen, I'm at the main checkpoint to the Hollenbeck Military Occupation Zone on Whittier. It seems that Captain Shays ordered a lockdown of the sector. No one is allowed inside without his permission, not even FBI."  
  
"He was trying to kill me," I said. "He's working with van Dahl."  
  
"He is?" Redfield asked.  
  
"Listen, can you send a helicopter over here?"  
  
"Airspace over military occupation zones are closed when a lockdown is in effect."  
  
Suddenly, Roxanne and I were illuminated in light.  
  
"This is Captain Shays of the United States Army!" shouted a voice from the helicopter loudpeaker. "Lay down with your hands on top of your head."  
  
Well, we did what we could only do.  
  
Run.  
  
We ran as fast as we could. Not that we could outrun a helicopter, but it would have to land before the soldiers in there could get us.  
  
And then I heard something which sounded like a metal object bouncing off a steel lamppost at high speed.  
  
"They're shooting at us!" shouted Roxanne.   
  
"We have to take cover," I said. Then just ahead, I saw a bar that was still open. "In there!"  
  
We both got inside.  
  
the first thing I noticed was the smell of cigarette smoke. the place was crowded. There were a few civilians in here, and the rest were soldiers. Beer was served in pitchers.   
  
This must be a tobacco house, where tobacco is sold to users. I saw two MP's standing by, armed with clubs, and it is clear that soldiers were providing security for the tobacco house.  
  
We both went to the bar and ordered beer. The best thing to do is to blend in until we could figure out our next move. We both knew that Shays would order building-to-building searches.   
  
"Hey babe," I heard someone say. I looked, and saw that those words came from a soldier on liberty.   
  
"you talking to me?" asked Roxanne.  
  
"Yeah, and noiw ain't you a sight. We don't get a lot of white ladies in this here joint. I never saw one here."  
  
"Let me get you a drink."  
  
Roxanne bought the guy a drink, as well as a cigarette. I wondered if my duplicate would be jealous of seeing his wife with this man here.   
  
and then I saw them go out together. I wondered if Roxanne decided her marriage was over and to start seeing other men. I mean, her husband had been cheating on her, and left her here to be with some model from the Cayman Islands.  
  
After a few minutes, Roxanne came back inside, alone.  
  
"Colin," she said. "Come outside quick. I've got an idea."  
  
I was just about to leave the bar when an Army police car came up. Some MP's. accompanied by Captain Shays, went inside the bar. I made sure he couild not get a good look at me.  
  
Pretty soon, all the soldiers went outside and started walking around. I guessed they were looking for me.  
  
Roxanne and I went out and walked to the Whittier Boulevard checkpoint. None of the soldiers at the checkpoint even batted an eye when we walked through.  
  
After all, I was dressed like opne of them, ditching my expensive suit for combat fatigues.  
  
"You're very brilliant," I said to Roxanne. "If only Colin could have known how valuable you are to anyone."  
  
The next day were spent hiding out in a motel. No one had come looking for us. In the meantime, I called FBI Agent Redfield. I explained how I got away from the military occupation zone.  
  
"We've just arrested Galen van Dahl," said Redfield. "You see, four of his thugs were in an automobile accident."  
  
"They were chasing me," I said.  
  
"One of them has agreed to talk. We placed him under witness protection. and there is other good news. The Army has arrested Captain Shays. He was already under investigation. Thanks to your actions, they now have proof. Now, Mallory, will you testify."  
  
"I haven't discussed this with my attorney," I said.  
  
"I understand. I'll put you under witness protection for a week until you decide. Just remember, should you choose not to testify, you will no longer be eligible for the witness protection program."  
  
I spent the past day at the Beverly Hills home. the whole place was trashed by the thugs sent to kill me. I saw cars parked bearby, wjhich I figurted were FBI cars.  
  
I decided to make one phone call.  
  
"Hello," the other voice on the line said.  
  
"Hello, Colin," I said.  
  
"You're still alive?" he asked.  
  
"Yes. Oh, Colin, by the way, you are being charged with fraud and insider trading. I advise you find yourself the best attorney you can afford."  
  
"Well, you have to deal with it. I can just live here with my Isabel."  
  
"I'll be gone tonight. And I made sure that the FBI will know where you have gone."  
  
"there's no extradition treaty with the Caymans," said my duplicate.  
  
"What about Galen van Dahl. He thinks you betrasyed him, and he's gonna come after you. No extradition treaty will stop him. IOf you come back to the United States, the feds will protect youi. But stay here, and you're on your own."  
  
"Hand me that," said Roxanne. She spoke into the cell phone. "Colin, I'm leaving."  
  
and she hung up.  
  
Finally, it was time for me to go.  
  
"Where are you going?" she asked.  
  
"I don't know," I said. "I know my friends are looking for me. I'll reunite with them.  
  
And then I felt as if I was weightless, as I traversed the barriers between dimensions. 


End file.
